


Five Things They Didn't Expect About The Inquisitor

by andiepandie



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Does not revolve around Pavellan, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 07:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7748143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andiepandie/pseuds/andiepandie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times when the Inquisitor behaved in ways that others did not expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Music

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if there are any weird tenses - I'm really bad at being consistent with them. I tried my best, but I don't know if I spotted all of them :)

They were around a campfire in the Emerald Graves the first time it happened. One of the soldiers had brought her lute along with her to keep her hands occupied and moods light while they waited at camp for potential situations. Mahanon had borrowed it off her, and as the sky darkened and the fire burned down he slowly started to strum, singing quietly.

 

_Elgara vallas, da’len_

_Melava somniar_

_Mala taren aravas_

_Ara ma’desen melar_

_Iras ma ghilas, da’len_

_Ara ma’nedan ashir_

_Dirthara lothlenan’as_

_Bal emma mala dir_

_Tel’enfenim, da’len_

_Irassal ma ghilas_

_Ma garas mir renan_

_Ara ma’athlan vhenas_

_Ara ma’athlan vhenas_

 

So absorbed was he in his song that he failed to notice the crowd he had attracted, seemingly entranced by his soft musicality.

 

Varric gently nudged Dorian. “Hey Sparkler, you know about this?”

 

Dorian, unable to tear his eyes away, just shook his head. A gentle hush had fallen over the forest, with even the remaining awake wildlife seemingly unwilling to make a single noise in fear of disrupting Mahanon.

 

It was, Dorian reflected, different yet similar to The Dawn Will Come. That had been inspirational, a commitment of the people that they would stand by Mahanon through to the end, and an understanding that the world would keep turning. This was his reply, was tender reassurance that their Inquisitor would always be there, no matter what happens.

 

Mahanon remained playing the lute until late in the night, ‘til naught but the night’s watch remained and they ushered him off to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtube.com/watch?v=Zl3CmzQY1So - this is a gorgeous copy of the song Mahanon plays, it really captures the mood of what I wanted
> 
> Translation:
> 
> Elgara vallas, da’len Sun sets, little one,  
> Melava somniar Time to dream.  
> Mala taren aravas Your mind journeys,  
> Ara ma’desen melar But I will hold you here.
> 
> Iras ma ghilas, da’len Where will you go, little one  
> Ara ma’nedan ashir Lost to me in sleep?  
> Dirthara lothlenan’as Seek truth in a forgotten land  
> Bal emma mala dir Deep within your heart.
> 
> Tel’enfenim, da’len Never fear, little one,  
> Irassal ma ghilas Wherever you shall go.  
> Ma garas mir renan Follow my voice –  
> Ara ma’athlan vhenas I will call you home.  
> Ara ma’athlan vhenas I will call you home.
> 
> Taken from: http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Elven_language#Mir_Da.27len_Somniar_-_a_Dalish_Lullaby


	2. Fire

Dorian had always known Mahanon was a fire mage – it was one of the first things he noted when they met in Redcliffe. What he hadn’t anticipated was how much Mahanon genuinely liked the stuff.

 

“ _Amatus_?” Dorian began one afternoon, lounging on Mahanon’s couch.

 

Mahanon hummed, but didn’t look up from his work. Dorian took it as a cue to continue.

 

“It’s the middle of day, all the doors are open, and yet you have candles everywhere, including next to the open doors, along with the fireplace on. Why is this necessary?”

 

Mahanon briefly glanced up from the latest report, peering around his quarters like he was seeing them for the first time. “Huh,” was all he said, before returning to the paper, trying to get through the last couple of sentences.

 

Dorian frowned at him, slightly peeved at the brush-off. He slunk over to Mahanon’s chair, draping himself over the back of it and running his fingers through Mahanon’s hair. He hummed once again, leaning into Dorian’s touch, as he finally placed the report down.

 

“Sorry, I zoned out a little. What was it that you wished to know?” Lavellan smiled up at Dorian, who felt himself treacherously melt at the warmth behind his purple eyes.

 

“Why so many candles, amatus? I hardly deem it necessary, your eyesight is excellent.”

 

Lavellan properly scanned the room this time, tinting a shade darker ever-so-slightly as he took in the sheer number of burning flames.

 

“I really like fire,” was all he could muster. Dorian raised an eyebrow at him. He shrugged helplessly, and said, “Well, I do! It’s a good thing you’re a fire mage as well as a necromancer, you know – I don’t think I could ever be with anyone who doesn’t like fire. It’s so pretty and comforting, but you must always remember the power behind it, and respect it or you will be burnt.”

 

Dorian leaned against Mahanon’s arm, smiling fondly at him. “ _Festis bei umo canavarum, amatus._ ” He murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

 

“ _Ar lath ma_ ,” Mahanon dimpled back up at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously why does he need so many candles
> 
>  
> 
> Translations: 
> 
> Festis bei umo canavarum = You will be the death of me
> 
> Ar lath ma = I love you


	3. Language

“ _Fenedhis!_ ” Mahanon cursed as he stared at the shackles around his wrists and the strange glow that was emanating out of his hand. “ _Ahn-_ ”

 

Before he could continue, the door slammed open and two formidable women strode in, circling him like sharks.

-

 

Mahanon stretched and rolled over to face Dorian. “ _On dhea_ ,” he murmured sleepily at him. He furrowed his brows slightly, clearing his throat as he tried to recall the common tongue version of what he was saying. “I – oh. I mean, good morning.”

 

Dorian just grumbled and rolled over, burying his face further into his pillow. Mahanon smiled fondly at him, stroking his hair gently.

 

-

 

“Oh! You’re a –” Mahanon started, smiling at Varric. His smile faltered, though, realising he’d forgotten the common word. Biting his lip, he looked to Solas for assistance, muttering, “ _rodhair_ ” to him.

 

Solas simply said, “Rogue.”

 

“Rogue. _’Ma Serannas_.” Mahanon said, cheeks flushed a light pink under his vallaslin.

 

“ _Sathem lasa halani_ ,” Solas inclined his head, before walking away.

 

“So, you’re Dalish? I know an elf who lived in a Dalish clan.” Varric said, looking at Mahanon with interest.

 

“I – yes,” Mahanon said, turning back to the dwarf.

 

“Is the common tongue not your first language?” Varric asked.

 

“It is common, not universal,” Mahanon smiled to lessen the bite behind his words. “I understand it, and mostly speak it, but I did learn elvhen before it. It was only after my clan started having more contact with _shemlen_ that my Keeper decided we needed to be able to communicate with them.”

 

“Huh,” Varric said. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with common as their second language.”

 

Mahanon shrugged helplessly. “I seem to be doing a lot of surprising things today.”

 

“You’re telling me!” Varric laughed, patting him on the shoulder as they followed Solas and Cassandra.

 

-

 

It was only after Mahanon met Dorian that he experienced someone who also learned the common tongue as a secondary language. They could be seen frequently in the library together, teaching each other their own natural tongue.

 

“ _Avanna_ ,” Mahanon tried out.

 

“ _Savhalla_ ,” Dorian replied.

 

“Are you saying that to me, or to someone you just met?” Mahanon asked.

 

“Is there a difference?”

 

“If it’s someone you just met, you’d say, _An'daran Atish'an_. It’s a promise that they are somewhere safe. Someone you’re able to be informal with, you can use _savhalla_.”

 

“We only have formal goodbyes – _vitae benefaria_. It is fascinating the way these things work out, isn’t it?”

 

The look they shared was heavy with history, and a deeper understanding began to form between the two of them.

 

-

 

“ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” Dorian muttered, glaring after Mother Giselle’s retreating figure.

 

“ _Fenedhis lasa_ ,” Mahanon agreed, shaking his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the idea of them bonding over language
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Fenedhis = Swear word, translating literally to ‘Wolf’s dick’
> 
> Ahn = What, huh?
> 
> On dhea = Good morning
> 
> Rodhair = Rogue
> 
> ’Ma Serannas = Thank you
> 
> Sathem lasa halani = Pleased to give assistance
> 
> Savhalla = Hello (informal)
> 
> An'daran Atish'an = Greetings, welcome, the place you go is a safe place (formal)
> 
> Fenedhis lasa = Go suck a wolf’s dick
> 
> Avanna = Hello
> 
> Vishante kaffas = You shit on my tongue
> 
> Vitae benefaria = Goodbye (respectful)
> 
> Taken from:   
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/3553883?view_full_work=true  
> http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Elven_language  
> http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Tevene


	4. Directions

“I- hm. I feel like we’ve been here before.” Mahanon said, frowning at a particular rock. He tugged the well-worn map out of his pack for what felt like the twentieth time, squinting at it and then his surroundings.

 

Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose wearily.

 

“Will you admit we’re lost now?” the Iron Bull huffed. “I thought you were meant to be good at directions!”

 

Behind him, Varric sucked in a disapproving breath.

 

Mahanon whirled around, mouth suddenly twisted into a scowl. “Why? What makes me more qualified to tell us where we’re going than Cassandra? Or Varric? Or you, even! She spends a lot of time going places, surely she’d be able to tell us where we’re going! Varric’s closer to the ground than I, maybe we should ask him to point us in the direction of the path that we’re going. And do you honestly expect me to believe that your Ben-Hassrath training didn’t include how to read a map? How am I the most qualified person here? Are my magic senses meant to point us the right way? Or am I meant to use sonar with my oversized ears and _hear_ where we’re meant to go?”

 

He clamped his mouth shut, closing his eyes and taking a calming breath. “It’s getting dark. I know enough to know camp is back that way. I’m going to bed.” He clipped out before stomping off, followed closely by Cassandra.

 

The Iron Bull stared after him in confusion, wondering how he managed to set that tirade off. Varric patted his arm as he followed the Inquisitor.

 

“Daisy is the exact same way. I didn’t just pay to have someone escort her home because of bandits, you know. I lost track of how many times she would somehow get lost on her way back to the alienage from the Hanged Man. Elves have a single person in their clan who they nominate as their guide, because they’re actually awful at telling which way they’re meant to go. They’re actually highly sensitive about it – I’d advise you never bring up directions around an elf ever again, if you value your horns.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You in danger, Bull.


	5. Humour

“High five!” the Inquisitor said. Josephine glanced up from her work to see his marked hand held aloft, with the supposed adult attached to it smiling hopefully at her.

 

“High – Inquisitor, I do not believe this is appropriate,” Josephine said, flustered.

 

Lavellan’s smile didn’t waver, he just nodded once and chirped, “Worth a shot!” before jogging off.

 

-

 

“Cassandra! High five!”

 

“No.” Cassandra scoffed. She turned back to her drills, but not before Mahanon caught the hints of an amused smile around the edges of her mouth.

 

-

 

“Hey Varric, high five!”

 

Varric could already tell what that tone of voice meant he was going to see when he turned around.

 

The green glow inches away from his face caused him to smirk, and he tilted his head up to make eye contact with their fearless leader. “Do you honestly think I’ll take you up on that?” He asked.

 

Lavellan grinned back at him, “Nope!”

 

 

-

 

Varric watched the interactions between Hawke and Mahanon warily. He didn’t understand when or how it happened, but somewhere along the line he became a magnet for heroes with the most ridiculous sense of humour.

 

As if reading his mind, Mahanon made eye contact with him before turning back to Hawke with a too-familiar glint in his eye.

 

“High five?” he asked, lifting his left hand.

 

Hawke paused, before throwing her head back and absolutely cackling with glee as she slapped her palm to his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I had the Anchor, I'd be high fiving everyone who'd take me up on it and I wouldn't ever find it any less funny.


End file.
